by Pamela Ann
Once we set aside the empty containers, Drew decided to take my good foot and place it on his thigh, mindlessly massaging it with his thumbs.
Okay, as interesting as the show was, my attention solely shifted back to the man. How could it not? He had been extra touchy since last night. I supposed touchy wasn’t the perfect term to describe it, because the bathroom scene had gone past “touchy” and more like a one-sided foreplay. Was it so wrong that a mere foot massage could ramp up a sex-starved woman like me? Hell, all right, I fucking wanted the man to just put me out of my misery. Instead, he was keen on these gradual brushes, gazes. and massages.
If his intentions were to make me pant like a rabid dog, well say no more. I was panting, gasping, and gagging for it. I wanted to openly beg for more yet didn’t want to come off as desperate.
Sure, I acted like quite the bitch when the mood struck me, but begging for sex was out of my forte, let alone trying to seduce a man. Considering my lack of sexual experience, how did one go about it without coming off tacky?
“Drew …” I drawled, not knowing what to say next.
“Hmm?” He barely glanced at me, his eyes trained on the screen.
His side profile was a work of art. I admired it with a certain longing. My hands itched to touch it, trace it, caress it with my fingers… with my lips. I wanted to worship him, show him how good I could make him feel if he only gave me the chance. But last night had proved just how much he liked to be in control of the situation, so I somehow doubted I would ever know how it would feel to kiss him like I had often pictured in my head. That one night I had spent with him … He had kissed me everywhere, but never did he dare kiss me like he had with the women I had seen him with. Even that woman he had screwed in his bedroom, he had kissed her like no one’s business while he fucked her until the bed shook to the point of almost collapsing.
“What is it?” he murmured, squeezing my foot.
Why didn’t you ever kiss me like that? I wanted to demand answers, but something made me bite my tongue. It was partly because I feared his response would hurt me.
“I’m curious about something …” I began, seeing him raise his brow and cock his head toward me. “You know … about last night. Why did you do that?”
If he says he felt sorry for me, I’m seriously going to kick him in the balls.
He considered me with those penetrating eyes, locking them with mine, delving into my depths. “There’s something about the way you moan my name … I can’t resist it,” he said, unblinking, holding me prisoner. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you again.”
Well, that was beyond unexpected.
“Oh.” My mind went blank.
“I’m sure you’ve been told a lot, but I’m saying it again … Your body’s made to make a man lose his mind.”
Did he just …? Oh, God.
My cheeks reddened while I felt goose bumps travel all over my body, and my heart palpitated from his words. If a man stated such notions, there had to be something there. When it came to sex and relationships, I would happily settle for the first option, testing the waters before leaping to the next step.
I was stuck in one of those now or never moments, and I knew I needed to get a move on if I planned on anything transpiring at all.
“Do you … um … plan to do something about it. I mean, after last night … and what you just said?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Your brother will kill me if he found out I took something that wasn’t supposed to be mine.”
“I gave it to you.” He hadn’t stolen anything; he should know better than to label it as such. “I wanted you so much. I still do.” It was a moment of honesty, my guards down as I proudly let out what I had suppressed for so long.
“Chloe … I can’t,” he said with conviction, immediately drowning my hopes. “Not that I don’t want to, because I do. All I can think of right now is parting those legs and losing myself in you. It’s fucked up since you’re in pain, but that’s what’s been on my mind, but I can’t. I can’t betray Jackson and your family like that.”
Neither Jackson nor my family should hinder what was between us. Trying to broach that argument seemed like a moot point, though.
“This isn’t about them. It’s about me and you, and no one else.”
“I can’t lose any of you.” He raked a hand through his hair, conflicted. “This attraction will eventually pass, Chlo. Besides, I’m not the relationship type. You know that. You shouldn’t want me. I’d probably end up cheating on you or something, and I would never forgive myself if I ever hurt you like that.”
His fears were understandable, although how could he know if he was capable of being faithful or not if he wasn’t even willing to test it? One thing I knew was that no one could force a man to do something he vehemently didn’t want to be a part of.
Instead of dwelling upon what might have been, I was grateful he had given me a direct response.
“I understand your decision.” The tiny flicker of hope that had surfaced moments ago would never blossom into anything solid and beautiful.
Unceremoniously, he took hold of my hands, clasping them with his own before bringing them to his lips, giving a kiss on each then gazing up at me with a solemn expression. “Sorry, I really am.”
“I’m sorry, too, that I brought it up. It’s okay. If you’re worried about me after I admitted that I still want you after all this time, you shouldn’t. I’m young and living in New York, right? It’s the best place to have fun and explore. I’ll get over it in no time—just wait and see.”
He seemed chagrined. “I don’t want you breezing through men like that, Chlo. No, you’re far too good for that.”
Well, that thought might be exclusive to him. Besides, for him to preach that I was too good for anyone when I had surpassed his apparent meager standards, how did one consider it: a fault or a misfortune?
The answer eluded me, exactly like my love life. That should be remedied soon, or it would forever remain non-existent. Some would even recommend trying variety, dating someone who was definitely not your particular type. But, hey, whatever; I could only handle one problem at a time. Tomorrow was another day.
Stiffly shrugging, I immediately felt the burden of this ceaseless tragedy. My body felt beyond taxed and in dire need of sleep, preferably with those pain killers. Yeah, it was high time I retired for the night. Niklaus Mikaelson, Drew, and the rest of the stubborn, dominant men could wait for another day.
“Do you mind handing me the crutches? I think I’m going to hit the sack.”
It was moments like these that I needed to be alone to regroup, be reflective, stay appreciative. Even if things were presently shitty, there was still so much to be grateful for. Applying positivity could go a long way when it came to uplifting tattered confidence.
My momentary courage hit a pause when I found Drew’s face bewildered.
“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded.
Well, I hadn’t been pissed off before, but oddly enough, I was now. All the mental pep talks I’d had moments ago instantly vanished, replaced by something I couldn’t care to name. Oh, why did he have to open that mouth of his?
“I’m not mad,” I snapped, past caring that he might see more of me and what lay beneath my chipped armor. Nostrils flaring, I glared at him. “Just hand them to me … please. I’d reach them if I could, but it’s too far.”
He was holding the vertical devices hostage, and it was rubbing me the wrong way. If he didn’t want me to be pissed off, he had a funny way of showing it.
Unperturbed about my shift of mood, he chose remain stubborn by not granting me my request.
“I’m carrying you to your room. End of story,” he stonily stated as he got up.
Why did he always manage to get the last word?
I fumed, on the verge of screaming. I didn’t want him touching me again. Nevertheless, with little to no warning, he smoothly collected me in his arms, hoisting me up before heading towar
d my bedroom without missing a step. Upon entering my space, he then proceeded toward the bed before cautiously depositing me on the mattress. I had figured that he would leave me in peace, yet he had other thoughts in mind.
While sitting right on the edge of the bed, he unexpectedly cupped my face. “Chloe, what did I do wrong?” he softly asked. “I thought you said you understood. If this isn’t about that, then what is it?”
I did understand. What had happened in the living room was a result of hysteria and the inability to channel my emotions properly. One of the things I despised about myself was how I processed disappointment. It usually resulted in mood swings, vindictive and unsystematic spurts of hurt and anger. I was in the wrong, even if my emotions were justified. Regardless, forming apologies took longer to process, partly in fear I would get too impassioned. Therefore, the best solution was to mince my words effectively without appearing too invested in the subject.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you, and I meant it when I said I understood your reasons behind the decisions you made.” There I was, halfway through; I could do this. Yay, mature version of me. “Honestly, I don’t blame you, not at all. This is all on me … for growing up thinking you’re the only man I’d ever be with since I was eight years old. It’s my fault for always holding out hope, so much so that it blinded me from the truth, from what’s really going on. And after all these years, that idea has been irrevocably crushed. So I need some time away to fully digest everything, but you’re reluctant to give me the headspace, and in return, I snapped.”
“You’ve known you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me since you were eight?” He was flummoxed, ignoring the rest of what I had just stated.
“Some girls like to spend their time with Barbies, video games, glitter, and frills. I liked to play pretend. Whenever you and Jackson were preoccupied with doing boy stuff, I would go to the tree house and act as if I was a wife preparing the house for you to come home. Didn’t you ever wonder why I kept asking you to come up for some milk and Oreos?”
“I had no idea.” His expression remained unchanged, bewildered by my confession.
“Well, now you know.” Bizarre, but maybe this was my process of letting go of the past—by confiding the secret I had held for far too long. By uttering the words, it was as if I were releasing myself from that juvenile fairytale. I felt appeased. “It’s fine. Let’s just consider this water under the bridge now. I’m sure it can get weird sometimes, but we’ll eventually get used to it. Like everything else in life, practice makes perfect.”
“What water? I—you can’t seriously believe that we’re done discussing this. You were eight years old, carrying on with the thought …” The quizzical look was still apparent on his gorgeous face.
“It’s not up for discussion. What else is there to say other than I was pathetic enough to believe that you’re God, and I was crazy in love with you?” I huffed out, roused and overemotional. I had said my piece through injured pride. There was no chance of us nitpicking any of that. Besides, there was no point in it. “You want to have a ‘discussion’ about that? Are you fucking kidding me?” My crazy psycho was peeking through, and I could feel my body becoming hot, overheating from this never ending madness. “Are you so curious you want to laugh at my stupidity? Because let me fucking tell you—”
“Shut up!” he bit out, his chest heaving, eyes wild, flashing at me in frustration, in turmoil, in dazedness.
Swiftly running a hand through his hair, he appeared out of sorts before diverting those riveting blues on me for a mere second. It took a breath, a moment before he unexpectedly lowered his face and fiercely kissed me with everything he was feeling, as if each kiss had a tale, its own explanation for why he was conflicted. I could feel him fighting with himself, though his lips proved otherwise. It was a kiss so potent I felt drunk. As much as I felt for him, I couldn’t match his hunger, his need. It was as if he wanted to consume me, devour me, and annihilate my entirety like a predator would to its captured prey.
I trembled, feeling so out of my depth, my meager experience unmatched by his expertise. My ears rung. My heart exploded into a million shards. Fireworks burst behind my closed lids as the kiss deepened, his chest pressed against my sensitive buds.
“Chloe,” he spoke in a strained voice.
I was about to yank his lips back to mine, but they found other places to scrutinize, seeking out my neck, the outline of my breasts. And just when I was loving the feel of him paying homage to them, I quickly realized what was happening. His face was between my legs, ardently determined.
His tongue made a quick, powerful swipe on my clit, temporarily parting my folds, wetting them. The sight the tip of his tongue toying with sweet button and that hungered look like he was about to devour my pussy alive … It made me come undone. He used his tongue in slow, circular motions, hypnotizing me with its technique and precision. Past delirious, I shifted my hips, abruptly lifting them just as powerful tremors travelled and quaked, throbbing on the particular spot.
His ministrations were deliberate, heightening my senses to their pinnacle, so the moment he decided to halt, I craved it like a junkie. Everything was calculated. He gauged my body’s reaction, knowing when to slow down but never stopping.
He tightened his hold on my thighs, locking them down so I wasn’t able to escape the unforgiving onslaught of his fervent tongue, mercilessly flicking my clit at such a speed it wasn’t given a reprieve, a chance to pause, to recover from tipping over the edge, delivering me to sweet oblivion.
Gasping for air in the wake of nirvana, I felt my body hum, alive like never before and unquestionably insatiable. After leaving a soft kiss atop my mound, he then began to slowly creep his way toward me, reaching for my cheek, caressing it softly as he gazed down on me.
“Feeling much better?”
Not quite. I needed more. I needed him. Desperately.
“Almost,” I whispered, smiling at him as I tried to feel him through his pants, but he shifted his hips so I couldn’t reach it, frustrating me further. “Stop being such a tease. Let me touch you.”
“We can’t have sex, Chloe. My decision hasn’t changed.”
Then why would he put me in a precarious position, leaving me wanton and vulnerable? He wasn’t playing fair.
“Please … just this once.” I grazed his chin with my lips, trailing along his jaw until I reached his ear.
His body was tense, like he was against me doing such things to him. But since he didn’t voice his displeasure, I thought it enough encouragement to carry on.
“Fuck me however you want. Fuck me like you did that model in your bed.”
“No, and for future reference, mentioning another person will kill a guy’s mood,” he muttered, immediately rolling off of me so fast the absence of his body’s warmth left me bereft.
His cold tone snapped me back in place, making me realize I had showed too much, given too much without getting anything in return. I was just someone he wanted to mess around with for fun. It probably boosted his ego to see me undone, ready for his command while still he kept me at arm’s length.
“Note taken. Thanks for the advice. I’ll make sure not to get carried away. It’ll come in handy for the next guy.”
His head spun so quickly to face me it made me lose my breath. “Dare to bring another man in this bed, and you’ll see what getting carried away really means!” he seethed with unmistakable disdain, lacing his words with an underlying threat.
He could fucking try.
“I can bring whomever I want. This is my bed. You don’t see me complaining about your models.” My hands were shaking so much I was surprised I contained myself from slapping his cheek.
“I won’t be doing much of that … as long as you promise me the same.”
Obviously, he would take his women elsewhere, while I would have to settle with going over to the guy’s house if it really came to that. However, I didn’t want to be put in position where I couldn’t b
ring anyone over to my place just because Drew Cavendish had said so. It was beyond absurd. And what was even more surprising was the very fact itself that he was dead serious about it.
“Am I not allowed to have a healthy sex life like the rest of the population? Do you honestly expect me to go to the guy’s house?”
His eyes became so dark I could barely spot the blue. “I don’t want you to, but if you have to, I don’t want to know.”
“Why the hell not?” If his intention was to mind fuck me, then he had successfully accomplished that. Well done.
“I don’t fucking know,” he growled into the room, seemingly just as confused as I was.
I gave up. There was no point in delving much further into it. There was nothing there. The main problem was me being able to detach my emotional self from everything I did with him since he had been forthcoming about having no designs on being in a relationship with me.
“You know what? I’m done having this conversation.”
“So am I.”
At least we agreed on something.
“Good night,” I said, barely glancing at him before resting back on the pillow. Never had sleep sounded so inviting.
Much to my surprise, he kissed my forehead before getting to his feet and switching off the light. I had expected him to leave the door ajar like he had last night. However, much to my dismay, he pulled down the sheets on the opposite side of the bed, pulled his pants down, and slipped into my bed with nothing but his boxer briefs on.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sleeping with you,” he said like it were a given.
I wanted to pull my hair out, scream—anything to channel the frustration that had been one hell of a nightmare all day.
“What if I tell you I don’t want you in my bed?”
He pulled himself closer to me, sliding an arm under my neck as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world and he hadn’t spent half of the evening dismissing the possibility of us happening.
With his lips close to my ear, he then whispered, “I’m not going to have sex with you; that should put you at ease.”
